


Dreams We Never Had

by EmmaArthur (EchoBleu)



Series: The World As We Know It [2]
Category: The Gifted (TV 2017)
Genre: Disabled Character, F/M, Ficlet Series, Hurt/Comfort, Lorna and Andy stayed, Post-Season/Series 01, Slice of Life, Sort of fix-it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:01:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22914412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EchoBleu/pseuds/EmmaArthur
Summary: Sequel to The World As We Know It. Snippets from John's life in DC in the six months before season 2.
Relationships: Clarice Ferguson | Clarice Fong/John Proudstar, Lorna Dane/Marcos Diaz
Series: The World As We Know It [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1234871
Comments: 10
Kudos: 20





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a while now, but back when I was still writing The World As We Know It and before the show was cancelled, I had a couple of long sequels planned out. I didn't end up writing them, but I wrote down some scenes I had in my head for them. Today I went back to look out of curiosity and figured that some of them can basically stand alone, so I'm going to post them in a little series here.

Clarice paces the small hospital waiting room almost despite herself. She's alone here, which is good because she'd probably snap at whoever talked to her right now. She's not sure why John didn't want her with him for this last appointment with the surgeon, maybe because he wants to digest whatever news he ends up getting by himself first. He's supposed to find out whether he'll ever walk again.

The door of the exam room down the hall finally opens after what feels like hours, but according to the wall clock is only a little over half an hour.

“Are you okay?” Clarice asks when she sees John come out, pushed by Caitlin.

John nods. “We're done here. I just want to go home.”

Clarice forbids herself from asking the questions pressing on her mind, seeing how tired John looks. She takes over the handles of the wheelchair instead.

“Do you need any help getting in the car?” Caitlin asks.

“We should be fine.”

“Alright. Then I should get to work.”

“Thank you,” Clarice smiles at her.

She pushes John out into the parking lot, and up to where she parked the car. They both hate this, but wheeling himself more than a few feet is still too hard on John, the position awkward and painful with his brace. They don't speak until they reach the car.

John transfers into the passenger seat with barely any help from Clarice. He's getting better at this. She folds up the wheelchair and pushes it into the back seat before taking her place on the driver's side.

“New brace?” she asks, gesturing to John's torso. She can just see the blue straps under his jacket, and the shape of the bulky metal brace underneath his shirt is gone.

“Yeah,” John nods, opening his jacket fully to show her. “It's more comfortable. Lighter.” It only has two straps on the front, one just under his arms and the other below his waist, made of mixed plastic and metal. It's almost invisible under the jacket, if it weren't for John's obvious stiffness whenever he moves.

Clarice hesitates, then finally asks. “What did the doctor say?”

She's afraid of the answer. John doesn't outwardly look either gloomy or happy, just exhausted, and she can't gauge his feelings.

“Pretty much what we suspected,” John shrugs. “My spinal cord was bruised by the piece of shrapnel. There doesn't seem to be permanent damage now that the swelling's gone down, which is pretty good, but I'm still paralyzed, so... He said I'll probably get at least some function back, but it's impossible to tell how much.”

Clarice nods, not taking her eyes off the road. She's afraid if she looks at him she'll start to cry, and it's the last thing she wants to do right now.

This is what Caitlin told them to expect, no worse−there was a distinct possibility that the doctor would tell John that he'd never walk again. But Clarice hasn't been able to keep herself from hoping for more, for something better, and she knows that neither has John. These news aren't crushing, but they're not good either.

“What's the plan?” she asks.

“Couple months of the brace, and lots of physical therapy,” John answers.

“Here at the clinic?”

“Yes. They can do it for free, and they have a good therapist apparently. I have an appointment tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Clarice says, as neutrally as possible. False cheer would be as bad as bursting into tears right now. “How are you feeling?”

John shrugs. “I don't really know. Ask me again later.”

Out of the corner of her eyes, Clarice sees him absently massaging his thighs. It's already becoming a familiar pattern. She wonders if he does that because of the pain or because he's trying to move them and can't.

She keeps her eyes on the road through the drive, but she doesn't miss the way John is resolutely staring out the window, away from her.

John doesn't mean to be so quiet and distant throughout the evening and the next morning, but he can't muster the energy to truly care. The surgeon's diagnosis is no worse than he expected, but it's like it gave it all added weight. Like the limbo John has been living in for the last three weeks had come to an end, and it's replaced by this crushing reality.

He goes through the motions, the overly complicated process of getting ready for the day, but he doesn't talk as Clarice helps him dress. He feels sluggish, almost stunned.

“The first thing we're going to do is find you an active wheelchair,” the physical therapist, who introduced herself as Sharon, says as soon as John and Clarice settled around her desk, in the cubicle portion of the large PT room.

“What's that?” Clarice asks. She has her hand in John's, and he tries to draw comfort from her presence.

“Hospital wheelchairs aren't made to be used independently, so you won't be able to get around much by yourself with this. Now active chairs are usually custom, and they can be pretty expensive, but I can reach out to former patients who don't need theirs anymore, see if someone's willing to donate. That's usually how we work here.”

John nods, the fog in his head clearing up a bit at her practical explanations. “Thank you. Just make sure you get something that can handle my weight.”

“Ah yes, your mutation. It shouldn't be a problem, we can reinforce it if needed. The work we'll do together, though, we'll have to find ways to adapt to your strength along the way.”

“You can do that?”

“I treat mutants, it's part of my job,” Sharon smiles. “Don't worry, we'll make it work. I'm fairly confident that we can get you walking with crutches at the very least, but even if that doesn't happen, your upper body is in great condition and your injury is low. Walking or not, you will be fully independent.” John lets out a breath at that. The loss of independence is truly the worst thing about all this. “We don't have a full rehab program, so you won't get specialized occupational therapy. That means we'll need to handle it together as well.”

“What is it for?” John asks.

“Physical therapy is meant to get you to build muscle and regain function. Occupational therapy is to help you become independent. That means transferring in and out of your chair, getting back up if you fall, how to get things that are out of your reach, that sort of things. We'll start right now by getting you up on that table.”

“It's too high,” John frowns.

“Yes. That's on purpose. You can already handle transfers to surfaces the same height as your chair, right?”

John nods.

“But I'm guessing your bed is lower, and you can't do that yet. That's what we're going to start with today, then we'll work on some leg exercises.”

The session that follows is brutal, even if John is glad to be moving a little again. He was in perfect shape before being paralyzed, and he hasn't lost all his muscles in just three weeks, but his legs are still not obeying him at all and his upper body strength is simply not enough. Each exercise goes up to his limits and beyond, and he comes out exhausted and sore all over.

“She seems to know what she's doing,” Clarice says when she pushes him out of the hospital.

“Yeah,” John yawns. He's still on the fence about having Clarice watch the session. He needs someone to drive him to the hospital and back, of course, but he's not sure he wants her to see this much.

But then, she sees this and more at their apartment, since they live together, and he could use someone cheering him on. Maybe she can be there some days and not others. They'll have to figure things out, just like they have to navigate leaving in a tiny two-room apartment when they barely just got together.

“You'll get through this,” Clarice murmurs in his ear once they're home, eating lunch from a tray in bed because John can't handle sitting up at the table. “ _We_ will get through this.”

John breathes in, letting the scent of her hair engulf him, and he prays that she's right.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very short John & Lorna scene. This whole series was supposed to be just John & Lorna originally, but I ended up including the other scenes I had as well.

“Hey, anyone here?” Lorna calls, knocking on the door to Clarice and John's apartment.

John curses and sits up  o n his bed, accidentally knocking off the book he's given up on reading.

“Come in!” he yells, wincing at the sound of his own voice.

Lorna uses her power to unlock the door and lets herself in.

“John? I brought over some metal for that exercising bar you asked for. I can install it now if you want,” she says, sticking her head into the bedroom.

She frowns when she sees John half-sitting on his bed, wearing only sweatpants, clearly in pain.

“Are you okay?”

John looks away. “Bad day,” he shrugs.

“What can I do?”

John almost wants to smile. Lorna has always been like that, matter-of-fact, caring more about getting things done than not hurting people's feelings. They haven't seen eye-to-eye much lately, but John realizes he's missed her.

“Not much to do but wait it out,” he sighs.

“Then I can at least keep you company,” Lorna chirps, kicking off her shoes and sitting cross-legged on the empty side of the bed. Her enthusiasm sounds a bit too bright to John, but he can't blame her for that when he's completely incapable of positive thoughts.

“Lorna, it's not necessary. I'll be fine.”

“Sure you will. In the meantime, I'm gonna be there for you.”

John lets himself lie back down, wincing at the pain in his back. The ache around his crushed vertebra never lets up, even when he gets some respite from the back and leg cramps. Which he hasn't, today. He spent a near sleepless night trying to breathe through the pain, and it doesn't seem to be easing now that it's nearing lunchtime.

“Clarice isn't here?” Lorna asks after watching him for a while. John has mostly stopped feeling self-conscious about the consequences of his injury, after nearly two months, but he still feels exposed lying down like this in front of anyone but his closest friends. It doesn't bother him much with Lorna, though. They've been through enough together.

“She's at the shelter,” he answers.

“She couldn't have stayed?” Lorna frowns.

“Lorna, it's not like that. I asked her to go.”

Or rather, he screamed at her to leave him alone after they argued for half-an-hour over whether she should stay in. John winces internally, guilt poking at him. He hasn't answered the five concerned texts she's sent him since, but he needs to apologize. Later. When he doesn't feel like hurling the phone across the room every time he reads her texts.

“Why?”

“I hate worrying her like this. Sometimes her concern is too much to handle, you know?”

Lorna lets out a bitter laugh. “Yeah. I know. Marcos has been all over my health every second we're not arguing about Charlotte, or the Inner Circle, or how we're gonna raise our kid.”

“I can imagine,” John says.

“So what's wrong today? Is it just the pain?” Lorna asks, changing the subject.

John shrugs again, absently massaging his thigh. “Cravings, too. Can't think properly.”

“It's been a while,” Lorna states. “I thought that was finally over.”

“Not really. It's been worse since...all this. But it's never really going to go away.”

“Have you talked to Clarice about this?”

“She knows about the pills,” John says evasively.

“But not about the cravings,” Lorna guesses. “You should tell her.”

“And worry her even more? I'm not going to act on it, Lorna. It doesn't matter.”

Lorna sighs, rocking lightly. “Have you eaten, at least?”

“Not hungry,” John says.

“John, you know that's the best way to get the thoughts away. You can't just wallow in your bed all day. Or was that the plan?”

“Maybe I'm just tired of all this,” John says dejectedly.

“So what? You're gonna give up, just like this? Go back to eating pills like candy? Give up on getting back on your feet?”

“It's been two months, Lorna, and I still haven't moved a muscle below my hips. Even Sharon mostly has me working on my upper body strength. Maybe I just have to accept it's going to stay that way.”

“The doctor said it could take a while, right?”

“He also said I might never walk again.”

Lorna sighs and runs a hand through her hair. “Look,” she says. “Obviously trying to reason with you isn't gonna work today. So I don't care how gloomy you're feeling right now, you're gonna come with me and eat something, and then you can show me where you want that exercise bar.”

“Lorna−” John starts.

“I'm not taking no for an answer.”

John groans. “Fine. Then help me get that thing on,” he grumbles, gesturing toward his brace. He grabs a tee-shirt from the pile of clothes sitting on a chair and pulls it on.

Lorna waves her hand, lifting the back brace from the floor beside John's bed by it's metal parts. It's much lighter and less awful-looking than the one she made him out of scrap metal, but John still bites his tongue when she does the straps and it forces his back straight. Lorna gives him a hand with sitting  back up, and he transfers c arefully into his wheelchair.

“I'm ready,” he says sulkily. He shouldn't resent her for what she's doing, he knows she's right, but it doesn't keep him from being annoyed.

“Come on.”

Lorna leads the way into the living room. She opens the fridge with a grimace of distaste. “Something in here we can eat?”

“Not sure,” John says, wheeling closer. “Let me have a look.”

Lorna pulls back to give him access to the fridge. He takes out a plastic container, purposely put where he can reach it.

“Clarice made this for today, but there's probably only enough for me, I don't think she counted on you stopping by.”

“John, Clarice has been making food for five ever since she noticed how much you normally eat,” Lorna smirks. “There's more than enough for both of us there. I think she's trying to tell you something.”

“Like what?”

Lorna facepalms dramatically. “Seriously? You've barely been eating ever since Nashville, John. We've all noticed. You're getting depressed, and you can't keep going like this.”

John sighs, pushing himself back. “I know,” he mutters. “I just...I can't seem to snap myself out of it.”

Lorna gives him a long look, then she pulls up a chair and sits down to be at his level. “You're not alone, John. We're here to help. Can you let us?”

“You're struggling too,” John shrugs. “I can't ask that of you.”

“Of course you can. Listen, you getting injured and everything that happened doesn't change anything between us. You can still call me out on my bullshit and I'll call you out on yours. I'm here for you just like you're always here for me, okay? You and me, together.”

“And Marcos,” John says. “And Clarice, now, I think.”

Lorna nods. “We can make it, alright? Don't shut us out.”

“Come here,” John holds out his arms. Lorna comes closer and leans down to hug him. “I love you, you know that?”

“Yeah, I know,” Lorna presses her forehead against his. “Love you too, brother.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been an eternity... If anyone is still reading, the remaining two chapters are already written so I'll post them in the next few days. This one is sad.

“We're almost there,” John says, indicating a door on the side of the decrepit building they've been going up to. Lorna opens the door.

“There's stairs,” she says.

“We're going down?” Clarice asks, poking her head in behind Lorna.

“Yes,” John answers. “It's down in the tunnel under the city.”

“You need me to get you down there?”

“If you don't mind.”

“Okay, I just need to go down first so I can see what's down there. It's too dark.”

Clarice and Lorna walk down the stairs together, followed by the Struckers.

“Ready?” Clarice calls from the bottom of the stairs.

A portal starts growing in front of John. He waits until it reaches the ground completely before wheeling through, Marcos at his heels.

“Thanks,” he nods to Clarice. He hates that they have to do this, but this is one more place that's not accessible to him. He knows he's lucky to have Clarice, to have someone who can still get him up and down stairs when there is no elevator. Today is too important for him to miss, but he suspects other mutants will have renounced because of the lack of accessibility.

“Couldn't they have chosen a place more...” Clarice trails off.

“Savory? Lighted?” Lorna proposes with a smirk.

It's true that their surroundings aren't the best. The room they're in was once a cellar, and it smells strongly of mold and old cigarette. John tries to avoid the images that always come with the smells, and they're mostly old enough that he can ignore them, but he has to stop himself from holding his breath.

“They needed a place where the Sentinel Services aren't going to show up,” he answers. “And there should be a lot of people, so it's not easy getting everyone together.”

“What is it really, anyway? You didn't say much last night.”

“Mutant Day of Remembrance,” John says, wheeling himself to another door. “It was started after 7/15 to remember all the mutants lost to violence every year.”

“Like, those killed by the police or mobs?”

“Yes, but also the mutant kids murdered by their parents, anyone who was killed because they were a mutant.”

“I see,” Clarice bites her lip. “I'd never heard of it before.”

“It's not...we keep it quiet, because there's too much risk of the Sentinel Services crashing a vigil. In Atlanta, we'd just have our vigil in the forest, but here the mutant presence is a bit more organized.”

John remembers the first year after 7/15, when he and Pulse went to their first vigil in Tucson just before Pulse was captured. John and Lorna did their vigil on their own the next year, in the still empty bank. He's never missed a Day of Remembrance. But this year is going to be different.

They finally arrive at their destination. It's a large room  whose corners are lost to the shadows, the lights coming from projectors  placed on the floor and flashlights. It’s already mostly full – more mutants in the same place than John has seen in years, if ever. Many of them are sitting on the floor, some carrying sleeping bags and packs. He knows of the mutants who live down here in the tunnels, who call themselves the Morlocks – they’re the ones who organized this vigil.

Lorna points to the center of the room, which John can’t see from his low point of view, and takes the lead, careful to clear a path for him to go through. The conversations around them are muted, whispered, people’s heads held down, and John can feel Clarice react to the sad and solemn atmosphere by lowering her own eyes. 

They reach a  less crowded area where a table has been set up. It’s surrounded by stacks of boxes, and John approaches to see that they’re filled with white candles.

“Welcome,” an older mutant nods at them from his seat behind the table. “You’re welcome to take as many candles as you need. Anything you can donate will help us fund this vigil and whatever’s left will go toward rehoming mutants who need it.”

“Of course,” John says, digging into his pocket for his wallet. They don’t have any money to spare, but he can’t stand the thought of just taking from other mutants in similar situations.

“John, can you explain?” Clarice asks him quietly.

John finds a tenner and empties his coins into the collection jar. “We’ll light a candle for each person we lost,” he murmurs into Clarice’s ear. He can see Marcos and Lorna speaking quietly to the Struckers out of the corner of his eyes. 

“Oh,” Clarice’s eyes widen in understanding.

John moves closer to one of the open boxes and counts the candles he places on his lap, the knot in his throat tightening. “ There will be speeches first,” he tells Clarice as she picks up a candle with an unreadable look on her face.

“It will start in a few minutes,” the welcoming mutant tells them.

It’s not hard to spot. Before they can move away from the table, Lorna and Marcos still bent over a box, a light orb rises over their heads, growing as it levitates, and everyone around them moves back to leave a large space empty in the middle. People who were sitting down stand up, and Clarice and Lorna automatically arrange themselves around John so that he can stay at the edge of the empty circle, where he can see what’s going on.

“Welcome everyone,” a black man steps into the empty space, letting his voice carry across the echoing room. John notices the eye patch and the brand in the shape of an M on his cheek. This is Erg, the leader of the Morlocks. “Thank you for coming. I know the trek here was risky for many of you.

This year has been the most brutal for mutants since 7/15. To this government, we are nothing but numbers, and  even  they have all but given up  on counting our dead, the ones that their decisions, their police, their  _dogs_ murder. But we will not. We will remember.

Our kind is only allowed to come together for funerals, and now even for those we have to steal and hide. Today is a day of mourning, and a day of remembrance.  We have all lost friends, family, loved ones, and all of them deserved to live. 

I could make a whole speech about our humanity, about what we have in common with non-mutants and why mutants deserve to live as much as anyone else, but I believe this ship has long sailed. People have been saying these words over and over for so many years, and history shows that appeals for tolerance don’t change the world, if they do not go hand-in-hand with real, violent action. We don’t, we _should not,_ have to prove the worth of our existence.

W e will resist. Even in the darkest hour, we will stand together and fight back against those who  would see us eradicated.  We will remember the names of those we lost and we will build ourselves a space to thrive in spite of those who try to erase us.

Today we remember. Tomorrow we will seek new ways to fight, because this war is not over. 

Thank you.”

*

John doesn't care about the tears running down his face as he lights his candles. Lorna and Marcos are crying just as much. Most of the people around them are.

The Struckers still look a bit wide-eyed, but Clarice has taken her own candle and started to look for a lighter. John hands her his and doesn't ask. They all have people to honor today.

The settings are different, but the process is the same as all the other times. They advance to the center of the room, Lorna holding John's candles by their metal base as he needs both hands to wheel himself. John puts his brakes on when he gets to the base of the memorial, where dozens of candles are already lit. He hesitates a little, feeling Lorna's step falter behind him when she understands why, but he wants to put his candles down himself.

“Marcos?” he asks. “Help me down?”

He can get from his chair to the floor on his own, but not really in any orderly fashion,  so it's easier this way .  M arcos comes up beside him  and helps him stand up  a little , with one arm around his shoulders. John does his best to put his weight on his legs despite the lack of braces, and Marcos gently lowers him down to his knees. John loses the position quickly, sitting down fully on his legs and using one arm to keep himself upright, but it's good enough.

Lorna brings the candles within his reach and kneels beside him, joined by Marcos and Clarice. John places the candles for his Marine brothers, first, murmuring their names so low that he's probably the only one who can hear. He's put down candles for them every year since the beginning. He, Lorna and Marcos quietly speak the names of every mutant they lost at the station, taking turns at lighting the candles. Clarice silently adds her own candle, and John smiles at her sadly.

He looks up when he feels movement behind him. The Struckers are still there, watching, but Reed kneels with his own candle. “For my father,” he says quietly. “Otto Strucker.”

John nods at him. He still has two candles in his hands.

“Augustus Milligan,” he murmurs. “Pulse.” He's lit a candle for Pulse for the last two years, but this time feels different, more bitter.

“I don't know the names of the Hound we killed,” Lauren whispers.

John looks up to her. “You don't need names,” he says.

“And we should light one for Chloe, at least,” Caitlin says. She and Lauren step back to get more candles.

John contemplates Pulse's candle, the little flame dancing in front of him, until they come back. It doesn't hurt quite as much, now, thinking about him, but he still feels the guilt of leaving him for dead. To get captured and tortured.

Both Marcos and Lorna have laid candles of their own, too, for people from their former lives John has only heard about. Caitlin and Lauren come back and light candles for the Hounds who died in Atlanta. Andy doesn't participate, but John can see him watching, can see his eyes shine in the candlelight.

The last candle is the hardest.

“Sonya Simonson,” John says, as clearly as he can through the tears running down his face. “Dreamer.”

Lorna lets out a sob, and Marcos puts his arms around her. Clarice lays a hand on John's shoulder as he places the candle down with the others.

All the other lights in the room have been switched off, and the glow of the hundreds of candles arranged on the floor is beautiful and haunting, lighting the stone of the high ceiling where it spreads in arches like a cathedral. The room is silent but for the shuffle of people taking their turns lighting candles and a few sniffles.

Clarice kneels down beside John and lays her head on his shoulder as he hugs her close to him. Lorna reaches her hand out to them and John pulls her and Marcos in for a group hug, weeping for their fallen friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Mutant Day of Remembrance is inspired by the Trans Day of Remembrance (Nov 20) and the Disability Day of Mourning (March 1). If you don't know about those, you can look them up. If you live in large western city, there are probably vigils held on both of those days.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to write something cute :) I wrote this ages ago, but rereading it now makes me want to write for this universe again. Forever salty about this show being cancelled 😭

“How's Lorna doing?” Clarice asks Marcos and her get to the entrance of the apartment complex.

“More uncomfortable every day,” Marcos answers with a wince. “I've been trying to convince her to stop taking care of the refugees, the doctor is threatening her with bed rest, but she just won't stop. She says she's going to lose it if she doesn't have something to do.”

Clarice sighs. “John's been saying the same thing. It's been a hard few months.”

“That's an understatement.”

“Hey, you want to get dinner together tonight?” Clarice asks. “The four of us. We don't do it often enough.”

“Sure, it might do us some good. Things have been a bit tense. Our place at seven?”

“Maybe ours is better. John's been really tired, I don't know if he'll be able to walk much.”

“Alright,” Marcos says as they stop in front of Clarice and John's apartment. “See you later then.”

Clarice nods and pulls out her keys. The living room is dark when she enters, the windows barely letting in light with the bleary weather outside. Removing her coat, she looks around for John, not making noise in case he's got a migraine again. He didn't seem too well when she left this morning.

She stops short when she sees the scene in front of her. John and Lorna are asleep on the couch, Lorna lying with her head on John's torso and her hands on her now imposing belly. John's crutches are on the floor beside the couch, and Clarice suspects he will regret the awkward position he's in when he wakes up.

She watches them for a moment, startled, before she hears someone else come in.

“That's where she was,” Marcos whispers, coming up behind her.

Clarice turns to look at him.

“Come on, let's not wake them,” he says.

The two of them retreat out of the apartment and Marcos leads Clarice to his place three doors down.

“You want to drink something?” he asks.

“You've got beer?”

“No alcohol, sorry. Lorna can't drink, so I try not to buy any.”

“Then a glass of water?”

“Sure.” Marcos fills two glasses at the tap and brings them over to the table.

“They do this often?” Clarice asks, gesturing downward in the general direction of her place.

“It's not what you think,” Marcos says.

Clarice laughs. “Don't worry, I wasn't thinking anything like that. I trust John. And you and Lorna. I was just surprised.”

“Lorna and John...they used to be very close. So many things have changed, but they've gone through a lot together.”

Clarice reflects on that for a moment. She's had a hard time qualifying the relationship between John and Lorna since the beginning. They haven't seemed very close since Charlotte, or even really since Clarice first came to the station in Atlanta, disagreeing on too many things and each buried in their own problems, but she's seen glimpses of their fondness for each other occasionally.

“John once told me that at the beginning it was just the two of them. Building up the station.”

“Yeah. And it was one hell of a task, too,” Marcos nods. “They had nothing. No money, no help, just this...mission. I think they relied on each other a lot. When I met them, I actually thought for a while that there was something between them.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I was hitting hard on Lorna, but I didn't dare say anything until I was sure they weren't together.”

“What made you do it?”

“After a while, I started seeing their relationship for what it is, just a very deep friendship. And then we freed Pulse, and he and John...you do know about them, right?”

“Yes,” Clarice smiles. “John told me even before we started dating.”

“Good. This would have been really awkward if you didn't know,” Marcos laughs. “Anyway, I asked Lorna out the next day.”

“That's not quite how I remember things,” Lorna says, stepping inside the apartment.

“Oh, you're awake,” Marcos turns to her. “We didn't want to wake you up.”

“This one woke me up,” Lorna points to her belly. “I guess she heard her daddy.”

“Is John awake?” Clarice asks.

“He was just stirring when I left, so probably. He's not really mobile today though, so I doubt he'll try the stairs.”

“I'll go home then. You two come down for dinner, okay? You can tell me the whole story of your first date.”

“Sure,” Lorna laughs. It still amazes Clarice sometimes, how much their relationship has evolved. In the last few months, they've become close friends, with far more in common than she thought they had.

She finds John still on the couch, bleary-eyed but awake. “Hey, baby,” she sits down beside him. “I missed you today.”

“Me too,” John mutters, leaning in for a kiss. “Though I had Lorna for company. We talked a lot, it was good.”

“They're coming over for dinner, so I should start cooking. Meat-free lasagna okay?”

“Sounds good. Just give me a minute, and I can prep the vegetables with you.”

Clarice heads over to the kitchen corner of their tiny apartment and starts taking out everything she needs. She keeps an eye on John, who is strapping his leg braces back on. “ You want your chair?” she asks.

“No, I can manage.” He stands up carefully−slower than he can on a good day, but he seems stable enough−and heads to the bathroom.

“Marcos was telling me about meeting you and Lorna,” Clarice tells him when he comes back and sits down at the table. She brings the carrots and leaks over with a couple of kitchen knives. “And how you first built the station.”

T here's something melancholy in John's smile. “Funny, that's what we were talking about, too. Just...remembering.  What we're doing here, it's so similar and so different at the same time,  it's hard to put things into perspective sometimes. We struggled so much, and now some days it feels like we're back to square one.”

“You said it was really hard, but I'm not sure I can imagine,” Clarice says. “You were all alone?”

“Someone...her name's Evangeline, she's a lawyer, she's the one who recruited us, but she basically dropped it all on us and left. Lorna was just out of a psychiatric hospital, and I was having a hard time adjusting.”

“Adjusting?”

“I'd been in a pill-induced fog for months, I was still going through withdrawal and Pulse was gone… It wasn't a good time.”

Clarice bites her lip. “You told me about your addiction before, but I didn't realize it was that bad.”

“It took me months to get over the worst of the cravings. And then there were the flashbacks, and panic attacks−”

“PTSD?”

“Yeah. I really wasn't in a good place. But Lorna was there, and I tried to be there for her when she had to go off her meds because we didn't have enough money to keep buying them.” John trails off, lost in his memories. Clarice picks up another carrot and give him time.

“I'm glad that you were there for each other,” she says when he focuses back on her.

John nods. “I'm really glad we're not alone this time,” he says.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last part of this little series. It was going to be the beginning of a S2 AU in this universe, but, well, that didn't happen. At least it bridges the gap to season 2.

“Marcos!” John calls. “We've got to move!”

Marcos looks up from the car he's working on to see his friend standing by the entrance of the apartment complex. “How bad?” he yells back.

“Bad as it gets!”

“Okay, I'll bring the car around.”

He runs over to their old car, salvaged from the junkyard, and brings it as close to the entrance as he can get.

“No braces today?” he asks as John folds himself into the passenger seat, setting his crutches between his legs.

“I'm trying these out,” John answers, bringing up his pant leg to show Marcos the plastic brace strapped to his calf, much smaller than the full-leg braces he's been using for the past two months.

“Nice progress,” Marcos smiles. “Should we bring your chair though?”

“No room. We'll probably have a bunch of people to bring back, we'll need the space.”

“Okay. If you're sure.”

“Let's go,” John nods.

He opens his window as they get closer to Liberty Park, signaling Marcos to slow down. He closes his eyes to let his other senses take over.

“Stop here,” he says. “There's a Sentinel Services truck a block in front of us. Can you try to go around?”

Marcos turns into a narrow street. “There,” John points in front. “I've got one group. Five people. They're not far, I can still hear them, but they're being pursued.”

He calls Clarice while Marcos parks the car. “Hey, I've got an address for you.” He rattles out directions. “Be careful, they've got a tail. We'll keep looking for others on our end.”

“Come on,” Marcos says when he hangs up.

John opens his door and manually brings his legs out. He stands up with the aid of one crutch, cursing the time it takes him to start moving. Time they may not have.

It's been over two months since he started walking again on his own two feet, but his legs are still too weak to fully support his weight, hence the crutches and leg braces. Today is the first time he's used the smaller, discrete ankle braces outside of PT, but he didn't choose the best time for that. They need to be fast, and he still can't walk much above a snail's pace.

Giving up, John leans against the car and opens his senses as far as they will go. From here, he can hear the Sentinel Services and police cars in the Liberty Park parking lot, with their sirens at full force, drowning almost everything else. John closes his eyes and tries to move past the overwhelming noise.

Breaking himself out of the habit to put his hand on the ground to track has been hard, but the time it would take him to crouch down and reach the floor isn't worth it. He's getting better at extending his power without the vibrations, relying more on his hearing.

“I've got another group,” he says after a minute. They're hard to distinguish from the ambient chaos, but he can hear them running out. “That way.”

“How far?” Marcos asks.

“We can take the car,” John says. Once, he would just have run there, but there's no point in dwelling on that. Instead, he gets back in the passenger seat as fast as he can.

“I think they've managed to hide,” he says. “I don't hear them anymore.”

“You've got their location?”

“Yeah. Take a right. Over there.”

John points Marcos to the right door, and takes out his phone again, not bothering to stand up this time.

“I've found the first group,” he says when Clarice picks up. “I think the other one went to the storm drains on the north side.”

“We're on our way,” Clarice answers.

“We'll meet you at the clinic,” John says, hanging up.

Marcos comes back followed by four mutants, who pile up in the back of the car.

“Anyone injured?” John asks the oldest. All but one are kids, barely of age if they even are. John sighs. There were at least three dozen mutants living at Liberty Park. Are those all they can save?

“We're okay,” the man answers.

“We'll get you checked out anyway,” Marcos says. “Don't worry, you're safe now.”

The trip to the clinic turns into hours of triaging, and then checking on the police chatter with Reed. John tries to stay seated as much as he can, but walking down corridors and to the parking lot is far more than he should be doing with just the AFO braces and he's seriously regretting trying them on today. By the time someone is free long enough to drive him home, he's in serious pain.

He still makes himself walk down to the junkyard before dinner, because the meeting isn't going to run itself. He could, probably, let Marcos or even Lorna handle it, but delegating has never been his forte. And these days, there's very little he can do other than coordinate everyone else's tasks, anyway.

He sits down heavily on the battered couch, and Lorna joins him minutes later, looking just as exhausted. She's so near giving birth, and yet  she still won't settle down, working herself to the ground. John knows calling her out on it would be a pot and kettle situation, but he knows they're all worried.

“Did the doctor finally clear things for the birth?” she asks Caitlin, once they've discussed the Sentinel Services raid. They have nothing new to say about it−they can do nothing about the raid but try to rescue as many people as possible. This one involved a residence, which meant whole families, kids captured and on the run. John closes his eyes and tries not to think about that.

“I'm still not sure you giving birth at the clinic is a good idea,” Caitlin says. “I'm worried about your powers. You said yourself they've been increasing exponentially as your pregnancy advanced, so what do you think will happen when you give birth?”

Lorna bites her lip. “That's the problem, we're not sure.”

“Well, I almost got impaled today at the clinic by a young telekinetic who'd hurt her hand, so I'd say it can get pretty bad. And having given birth twice myself, I can guarantee you can't hope to maintain any kind of control through it.”

“Then we need to find another place,” Marcos says. “I agree that we can't put the clinic at risk, but we're not putting Lorna or our baby at risk either. We need somewhere safe, somewhere that doesn't have any metal.”

“Anyone have an idea?” John asks, looking around.

No one answers with more than a shake of the head.

“We need to keep looking, and fast,” Caitlin says. “It could happen anytime now.”

“Alright. Clarice and I will try to track down Christina's sister tomorrow. Marcos, Caitlin, can you start looking for a suitable place? Sage, can you guide them from here?”

“What about me?” Lorna asks, at the same moment as Marcos reacts, “I want to stay with Lorna.”

“I thought you should rest,” John answers Lorna.

She opens her mouth to protests, but Marcos beats her to it. “He's right. You're five days away from your due date, Lorna.”

“I will do what I want with my body, thank you,” Lorna snaps. It's certainly not the first time she's reminded them that it should be her own decision.

Marcos opens his mouth to protest again, but John nods at her and stops his friend. In many ways, Lorna and him have been in the same boat these last few months.

“Look, you can work this out between you,” he says. “Sage, do you have anything new about the Inner Circle?”

“I've reached out to a couple of mutants who have abilities similar to mine,” Sage answers. “They control computers more directly that I do, and they're very good hackers. They should have results for me in a few days.”

“Right. Keep us posted. The Inner Circle can't be our main priority right now, but we have to keep an eye on them.”

Sage nods, and ducks back behind her laptop. “ Alright, let's go home for the night,” John says. “And guys? I know it doesn't always feel like it, but you did a good job today.”

“Thank you, John,” Reed says quietly, gathering his family. “Come on, let's go eat.”

John waits until everyone else is gone to even attempt to stand up. His legs feel like jelly and his gait is even more uneven than usual. Clarice stays beside him, matching his snail's pace. “Christina's waiting upstairs,” she says. “Will that be okay?”

“Yeah, it's fine. I'm alright, just tired.”

The trek up to the second floor apartment, in the dingy elevator that always seems two minutes away from breaking down, feels endless. John finally drops into a chair at their kitchen table, letting Clarice handle the small bag of groceries she picked up earlier to be able to feed a third mouth.

“Hi,” he tells the young woman who timidly walks up from the couch. “I'm John.”

“Christina,” she mutters.

“Clarice told me about your sister. We'll do our best to find her tomorrow, alright? Try to think of any place she might head to.”

Christina nods. “I can't really think of any, but I'll keep thinking,” she says.

Clarice squeezes her shoulder, then ropes her into helping her prepare dinner, probably deciding that Christina will do better if she has something to occupy her hands. John considers moving to the couch to be more comfortable while they cook, but it feels like too much of a hassle.  He settles on checking the laptop for any news on the Underground's network instead.

“Did you see Marcos?” Clarice asks him later, after they've finished eating. “I swear the closer we get to the baby's due date, the less rational he gets about Lorna.”

“I know. I'll talk to him.” John says, finishing piling up the dishes on the table. He's too tired to stand long enough to do them, but he can do his best not to leave Clarice everything. She's taken too much on herself the last few months.

They've done their best to make the crappy old apartment as accessible as it can get, but it's not a lot. John can barely fit his chair in the bathroom, let alone cook sitting down. It's been a little better since he can stand up, but he's not stable enough on his feet to even take a shower that way.

“You're alright to go to bed now?” Clarice asks when she's done with the dishes. “I know it's early, but we might have a long day tomorrow.”

“Sure,” John says. He picks up his crutches and sighs. One of the things he hates most about his situation is how much planning and time everything takes. Going from the kitchen to their bedroom should be easy.

“What's wrong?” Clarice asks.

“Nothing. I told you, I'm just tired.”

“You walked a lot today?”

“Not really, but it's harder without the full braces,” John answer. “And PT was exhausting.”

“I can bring out your chair if you want.”

John thinks for a moment and sighs. “Actually, that would be great.”

He's long past the phase where he hated the mobility aids, especially the chair. It gives him more independence than crutches in most places, and there's no point in hurting himself out of stubbornness. Tired as he is right now, he's liable to stumble and fall if he tries to walk.

“Thanks,” he says when Clarice brings his wheelchair up to where he's still sitting. He hands her his crutches and smoothly transfers out of the kitchen chair.

He can see Christina, settled on the couch, watch with curiosity, though she's discrete. He nods to her when he passes by. She nods back, looking sheepish.

Clarice doesn't follow him into the bathroom. It's too small to fit anyone else once John has his chair inside. John brushes his teeth quickly, awkwardly leaning over the too high sink to rinse his mouth, and wheels himself out.

He's already in bed when Clarice joins him in the bedroom and starts changing into her nightclothes. John watches her appreciatively.

“You want to watch a movie?” she offers, gesturing toward their laptop.

“No. However much I want to cuddle with you right now, I'm just going to fall asleep halfway through. Feel free to do whatever you want, though.”

“Sleeping sounds pretty good, actually,” Clarice smiles, slipping under the covers. “It's been a long day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure there's anyone left in the fandom at this point, but if you are, thank you for reading. I think this is the last of the words I still had sitting around on my laptop about these characters. I've written a lot since then and this feels very rough when I reread it now, but I really had a blast writing this universe.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos make my day! Let me know if you've read.
> 
> I'm also on [Tumblr](https://emma-arthur.tumblr.com/), though I've mostly moved on to another fandom. You're welcome to come and chat, because I still hold The Gifted close to my heart, even though the fandom has faded away.


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